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RiCORDO DiTALIA 



BY 

EDITH COLMAN GOURLIE 



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COPYRIGHT 1916 BY 

EDITH COLMAN GOURLIE 



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©CI, A 4 53375 



HFC 30 191 S 



"Per ogni ora che passa, un ricordo. 
Per ogni ora che batte, una felicita. 
Per ogni ora che viene, una speranza." 



I DEDICATE THIS BOOK OF HAPPY HOURS 
TO THE DEAR AUNT 
FOR WHOM MY WISH IS ALWAYS 
THAT WHETHER LOOKING INTO 
THE CLOSED GARDEN OF THE PAST- 
OR THROUGH THE WINDOW ON THE SEA 
OF THE FUTURE-SHE MAY FIND IN EACH, 
A HAPPINESS! 




CONTENTS 

THE CLOSED GARDEN p^ 

The Closed Garden 9 

Love And Thought 10 

Wings 11 

Lights Of Venice 12 

Gondolier's Love-Song 13 

Painted Sails 14 

Sands Of Dream 16 

The Baby Of The "Madonna del Cardellino" 17 

Treasures 18 

Bells 19 

To The City Over The Sea 20 

Happy V/aters 21 

The Steps From The Piazza di Spagna 25 

The Bridge Of The Angels 26 

Why? 27 

A Garden Asleep 28 

The Eternal City 30 

Remembrance 32 

The Road 33 

Full Moon At Amalfi 35 

Little White Garden 39 

Secrets Of The Faraglioni 40 

Capri — In Spring 43 

The Lost Hours 44 

THE WINDOW ON THE SEA 

The March Of The Dolomites 49 

To a Tyrolean River 51 

The Border-Line 53 

Flower-Fields 54 

Monte Cristallo 55 

The Window On The Sea 59 



THE CLOSED GARDEN 



Per ogni oi^a obe passa, 
un pioordo." 



THE CLOSED GARDEN 

Softly there, the sunlight falls, 

In that garden all may know; 

Bright the space between the walls, 

Where unfading flowers grow; 

Owned by the Happy Past — those flowers — 

(Sweet their breath!) — 
Spirits of unforgotten hours, 

That know not Death! 

From our road without, we gaze 
At those Joys that once have been; 
Closed to us, the Yesterdays! 
We may only look within — 
"Until," the voice of the Happy Past 

Whispers low, 
"You too, become a part, at last, 

Of Long Ago!" 

Softly now, the sunlight falls 

On those Joys that once have been; 

Bright the space between the walls 

We may only gaze within; 

Safe with the Happy Past — those flowers! 

(Sweet their breath!) 
Spirits of unforgotten hours, 

That know not Death! 



LOVE AND THOUGHT 

I said to Love and Thought one day, 
"Which of you two, can fleeter be, 
And bear my heart to Italy?" 
Swifter than lightning-flash at night, 
Thought arose on strong, firm wings; 
Love was gone in a gleam of light. 

in an old-world city, far away. 

Who is that, descends and clings 

To a balcony on a yellow wall? 

And softly folds her shining wings? 

"Thy Thought," from far I hear her call, 

"Thy Thought ami! Who more swiftly flown?" 

— But who is this, so quietly 

At rest upon the balcony? 

Clasping a heart whose roots have grown 

Around him where the sunlight falls 

Deep, deep into the yellow walls? 

"Thy Love am I!" he smiles, "and see! 

Thou hadst left thy heart in Italy!" 



wmGS 

Far, far the brown Campagna lies, 
In other world, 'neath other skies — 
But from this field, a wee bird springs, 
And dips his way across the bare 
Brown furrows; on the April air, 
Peach-blossoms lift their rosy wings — 
And lo! I've crossed the sea, and stand 
Within the Unforgotten Land! 
Surrounded by the Ancient Things! 



II 



LIGHTS OF VENICE 

To us who may in dreams, again behold 

The "Stones of Venice," 'tis not these alone 

That form her jewels — Wrought in every fold 

Of her rich robes, are changing colors, blown 

From lights of every radiance — sun's red gold. 

And moon's pale silver; shining water, sown 

With sapphires, pearls, as though the Sea unrolled 

His glittering hoard of gems before her throne; 

And lanterns, lit by men at eventide. 

Are strung along low shores — as though the Sea 

Should hold aloft the diamonds for his bride, 

A-dream in his enraptured arms — while she 

Sets rubies on dark water-ways, aglide, 

And weaves his soul in nets of mystery. 

With Romance comes the magic of the Night: 
Each lantern, hanging late o'er wave-worn stair, 
Shows golden tendrils curling out of sight — 
And who but Venice owns that golden hair? 
There, out of darkness, oars rise dripping bright! 
There on the tide, float jewels none can wear! 
And barges decked with rose-tree stands of light, 
That sway like flowers in a wandering air, 
And pass to music — (as a rose-tree ought!) 
— And each thing might be other than it seems; 
And every stone of thine with wonder's fraught. 
For, Venice, 'tis with light a jewel gleams! 
And 'tis with lights thy jewelled robes are wrought; 
And crowned with lights we see thee in our dreams! 



GONDOLIER'S LOTE-SONG 

Smooth as my gondola, gliding 
Over the water to thee, 

Would that my love could be guiding, guiding 
Thy heart to me! 

Swiftly as wavelets are fleeting 
Back at the dip of the oar. 
Swifter my heart it is beating, beating. 
As nearer I draw. 

Keen as my prow that is turning, 
Around thy dark garden to swing. 
Keener the wish, that with yearning, yearning, 
From Shadow I sing: 

Low at thy steps I am rocking, 
— Quick at thy step I would start — 
Soft at thy door I am knocking, knocking — 
Open the door of thy heart! 



13 



PAINTED SAILS 

The Painted Sails arose at dawn, 

To greet the rising sun, 

That as in olden tournament, 

Hung like a shield before the tent 

Of knightly Day — the Unknown Day — 

Whom they must meet in mortal fray, 

Before their spurs be won. 

— They touched their mast-heads on the shield, 

And forth to sea they went. 

O is it red with battle-stain. 

Or flushed with victory, 

The Painted Sails come home again. 

Across a crimson sea? 

The banners of the dying Day 

Are torn, and far are blown; 

His shield has fallen; Shadow dim, 

And friendly Night will cover him. 

The Painted Sails — O how fared they? 

Since first they rose and sailed away 

To challenge the Unknown? 

O some be flushed with victory. 
And some be battle-stained, 
That proudly o'er the rosy sea. 
Sweep home — each one an argosy 
With spoils of Day, he gained! 
But some at night returning, creep 
Unearthly to the shore, 
Like ghosts, or children in their sleep; 
And some — return no more! 



14 



Though all must dare the windy sea, 
There's many a one who fails! 
'Tis few may hear the prize away, 
In combat with the Unknown Day — 
Of all the Painted Sails! 

But some at night who come to rest, 

Wear noble battle-stains 

More beautiful than cargoes 

Of all the golden gains! 

And some at dusk, returning faint, 

If high at mast, they bear 

Their pennants of the morning — 

Still proud, and brave, and fair — 

Will seek another combat, 

And forth to sea, away! 

Will rise again at dawning, 

And challenge the New Day! 

—Then rise, O Painted Sails! 



IS 



SANDS OF DREAM 

The golden sands lie far and wide; 
For all to see, for all to own — 
With them, the little children play; 
And lovers, far on them, may stray; 

And poets walk alone — 
But grasp too closely in your hands. 
Those golden sands — 

They glide 

away! 



i6 



THE BABY OF THE "MADONNA DEL 
CARDELLINO" 

Oh! if I were the little bird, 
To have His dear caress, 
I'd break my heart with singing 
For so much happiness! 

And if I were the daisies 
On which He fears to tread, 
I'd weave a starry pillow 
To bear His little head! 

But could I be His Mother's foot, 
Whereon His own doth press, 
I'd weep! I'd weep to think that He 
Should deign, should deign to lean on me! 



17 



TREASURES 

I'll show you a shell of a far blue sea, 
Ringed in a magic foam — 
And the name of the shell is "Italy," 
And the song that it sings is "Rome." 

And here is a drop of a fountain clear — 
Or is it a tear-drop too? 
But be it the fountain or the tear, 
'Tis Rome that is shining through! 



i8 



BELLS 

How sweet, and slow, and far away, 
The bell of San Giovanni rings 
Across the dreams of Yesterday! 
Its single note is like a song. 
That all night long— all night long, 
Still sings. 

And I am far from Italy, 
In this dear country that's my home, 
But like a bell across the sea — 
A bell whose single note's a song — 
All day long — all day long, 
Calls Rome! 



i» 



TO THE CITY OVER THE SEA 

Oh! can it be? 

Are you still there, beyond the sea? 

Still does the eucalyptus-tree 

In the priests' garden, o'er the way, 

Swing where the little fountain's spray 

Laughs in the shadow or the light, 

All day. 

And sings all night? 

— Who stands now, on my balcony? 

And watches, as the sun goes down 

Behind the pine-tree on the sky. 

The silver mist float far, and partly veil the town, 

The bats that fly, 

The stars beside the darkening tower appear — 

While I am here! 



HAPPY WATERS 

(To all the fountains of Rome, 
especially the little ones!) 

Springing at the sunlight, 
Laughing at the rain. 
Chasing little shadows 
With all your might and main. 
Dancing through the day-time, 
Singing through the night, 
Happy Waters! ever 
Scattering delight! 

Coming from a cloud-land 

In the far-off sky, 

Travelling through darkness, 

Leaping — bye and bye — 

Forth in fairy gardens. 

With water-nymphs to play. 

Or from crowded centre 

Of a great highway; 

Merry little Waters! 

Falling but to rise, 

Tell me why the thought of you 

Brings tears to the eyes! 

Made of stars and rainbows — 
As the life of men; 
Flashing out of darkness 
Into dark again; 
Coming, who knows whence? 
And going, none knows where! 
Busy Happy Waters 
Never need to care! 



Fleeting as the morning 
With the dew impearled; 
Old as are the ages 
Of the ancient world; 
Passing, ever passing 
From the earth away, 
Happy Waters! knowing 
Change, but not decay! 

What is all your passing 

But a living sign 

Of the Life Eternal — 

Human and divine? 

That is ever going 

On to life anew, 

Deathless — only knowing 

Change as Life, like you! 

— Yet, O Happy Waters! 

Singing as you rise. 

Tell me why the thought of you 

Brings tears to the eyes! 



Pain I Up^VdrJ " 



THE STEPS FROM THE PIAZZA DI SPAGNA 

Out of the old Piazza's life, ye rise, 

Oh! Steps! — from where the fountain-waters play; 

And seem, to one who climbs your slanting way, 

The Years of Life that lead to Paradise. 

Like Youth, your first low group, in flowers lies: 

Branches of almond-blossom, flushed with day; 

Bunches of little rosebuds — (fairer they!) — 

Sunlit mimosa; dark-blue evening skies 

Of Roman violets — Is it with tears 

Or stars they shine? — As in this life of ours, 

Let's count the climb worth while! and when one nears 

Where Trinitk dei Monti's yellow towers 

Point upward still, look back, as down the Years, 

And there behold you, Steps, begun in flowers! 



THE BKIDGE OF THE ANGELS 

Over the Bridge, all day there goes 
The passing throng, of women and men, 
Brown little children on pattering toes; 
Under it all, the Tiber flows. 
Only at night, the Bridge is bare, 
Silent — but there, 
Under it still the Tiber flows — 
Only the Angels guard it then. 

Spanning the Tiber's moving tide, 
Along the Bridge, upon each hand. 
From end to end, the Angels stand — 
And many there are, for Tiber's wide! 
The people pass between the rows; 
And many a one unheeding goes; 
But often a little child is there. 
Who finds the Angels passing fair. 
— And so they come to the Other Side! 



WHY? 

Little mandarin-blossom, why- 
Climb so high 
Above the wall? 

And breathe to me your faint, sweet perfume like a 

sigh 
That it's so tall? 

Little dancing peach-tree, why 
Clasp the sky 
Within your fair 

Sweet arms?— and when you've caught the blue, blush 

rosily 
To find it there! 

Little brown-eyed baby, why 
Do you cry 
To be a man? 

And then would give the world if it could childhood 

buy! 
Alas! who can? 



A GARDEN ASLEEP 

Let us descend the stairway here — 
The stairway down whose balustrade, 
The waters ran; now, mosses grow 

So close, so low, 
Like mould upon the marble laid. 

Here, where the many fountains played, 
There rises now, a single stream — 

A slender thread — 
That stands and murmurs in a dream 

Of summers dead. 

As o'er a grave, the cypress-trees 
Bend not in pity, with the breeze. 

But point instead 

To heaven, whose blue 
Shines tenderly and softly through 
Their guarding shade — For they are old, 
And many things they've known and seen. 
The garden pools are dark, and hold 
No more the sunbeams' waving gold. 

But cypress-green. 

Though everywhere the mosses creep, 
— All living flowers long have fled — 
And their still watch, the cypress keep 
Around this garden fast asleep. 

Say not the Spirit here, is dead! 

'Tis only laid 
At rest here, in the gentle shade. 



28 



Say not the springs are dry, whereof 
These fountains played! 

Far off, those waters run 
To meet the sun! 

Far off, beyond our feeble sight, 

They're leaping somewhere, radiant 
In the lizhV. 



-<w 



THE ETERNAL CITY 

The City, on her hills apart, dreams in the setting 

sun; 
And through the floating haze, as in a vision, one by 

one. 
The golden centuries she sees — 
Her flaming, fading centuries! 
Pass on and melt in mist that slowly on Campagna 

creeps. 
The sun sinks low; the City sleeps. 

And darkness wraps her close, but high above, a few 

stars shine; 
While from her blackened mass below, a tower or 

stone-pine 
Springs forth to meet their silver light, 
As from Dark Ages, deep as night, 
A few great souls arose at call of higher things than 

earth, 
And out of chaos, leaped to birth. 

The City wakes — The sunbeams dance on Tiber's yel- 
low tide; 

Around the Pincio, all entranced, the little children 
ride; 

And dark-eyed Baby, up and down, 

Is borne by nurse in colored gown 

And ribboned cap that fluttering, match the flower- 
beds, where gay 

Young Romans of Tomorrow play. 



30 



still march the ancient acqueducts at slow pace o'er 

the plain, 
That ever from its winter sleep, wakes into spring 

again! 
Still through the City's beating heart, her living 

fountains rise; 
And o'er the Eternal City, watch and ward the eternal 

skies ! 



ax 



REMEMBRANCE 

"Back from Rome? Does not a choir — 

Nun or angel — echo still 

In your ear, celestial singing?" 

— On a hill, 

There leaps a fountain! 

— There are many leaping higher — 

— But afar, I see it flashing; 

And the music of its plashing 

Still is ringing 

"But St. Peter's?— Great St. Peter's! 

Does not still, that mighty dome 

Hold your mind with art undying?" 
— I see Rome 
Still from my window! 
— Yellow walls shut out St. Peter's — 
But roofs and domes unnumbered, gleaming, 
And the far Campagna, dreaming, 
There are lying 



3» 



THE ROAD 

Still, through a Dream, winds the Road: 

Still, in a dream, I see the long Road glide 

On, on before us — narrow, gray, between 

Gray walls, high walls, that shut us in, and hide 

From us, whate'er of wonder might be seen. 

But high above the walls, peach-blossoms fling 

Their rosy mist, and tinge the sky with dawn; 

And bright as was the sun, when first the Spring 

To a happy world was born, 

Shines, fair as fruit of the Hesperides, 

The golden glory of the orange-trees. 

What beauty then, must those bare walls be hiding, 
Between whose blindness, goes the gray Road gliding! 

So high, so still they hang, those golden spheres! 

Like tiny worlds afloat in some far blue; 

Or like the shining dreams of our young years, 

Whose light of dawn could last the whole day through. 

But far above, they hang — beyond our reach! 

The blind Road, beckoning, bids us "Come away! 

For soon will fade the blossom of the peach — 

The fruits of earth decay!" 

And through a gate, shows earth that's ploughed and 

bare — 
The flowers, the fruit, shine in the upper air! 

Then had we not their best — to see them gleaming? 
"The gray Road, turning, wakes us from our dreaming. 

Still in a dream, I see the Road grow wide; 
Gone are the walls, and in their stead, there tower 



23 



Gray cliffs that climb the sky upon one side, 

And flecked with yellow broom, the sunlight flower. 

Then lo! from 'neath our feet, the world is torn! 

For wide before us, waits the windy sea. 

Now fade the golden dreams and flowers of dawn, 

Before this mystery. 

And yet those heights, no foot of ours can scale! 

And in these harbors, waits for us, no sail! 

So still we keep the Road, that turning, turning. 
Calls to our hearts to cease their useless yearning. 

But on the golden broom, our spirits climb, 

And gain the airy heights; and o'er the deep, 

Have spread them wings that conquer Space and 

Time — 

(Is it the Road, we keep?) 

Now in the sea, slow sinks the dying sun. 

To rise new-clothed in dawn, another day; 

But on the old gray Road, our journey's done — 

Yet what is calling still, from far away? 

— That night, how bright our dreams! — or dreams 

they seemed — 
Or had all dreams been real — the Road but dreamed? 

O happy they, whose Dreams and Road are blended! 
Whose Dreams come true, when their Long Road is 
ended! 

Still through a Dream, winds the Road 



34 



FULL MOON AT AMALFI 

We passed in Amalfi, that night of full moon, at the 

Luna, 
The little old hostelry, white as the foam where it 

stands 
On the edge of the roadway that winds like a dusty 

white ribbon, 
Along where the waves sing their song to the rocks 

and the sands. 
Though Ibsen's, the rooms we had taken, and where 

he had written. 
Indoors I would sleep not— Our loggia looked out on 

the sea! 
And there on the white seat, I settled, to watch and 

to listen. 
And bathe all my soul in the glory— but 'twas not for 

me! 

Alone on the edge of the world, I gazed far into 

vagueness ; 
And the moon hung aloft like a shield, silver-bright, 

on the sky; 
And the sea lay beneath like a mist floating down to 

veil heaven; 
And the stillness was music— the only false note 

there, was I! 
My senses looked out on the glory they saw but could 

feel not; 
' My bodily eyes knew the beauty of sea and of moon ; 
But the eyes of my spirit were closed as at overmuch 
sunlight ; 



35 



The ears of my spirit heard nothing at all of that 
tune! 

Oh! when had the sea ever spoken to me all un- 
heeded? 

Oh! when had the moon shed for me, all her glory in 
vain? 

Not a sail on the sea — not a cloud in the sky — there 
to help me! 

And the sense of that beauty was greater than mortal 
could gain! 

So, slowly I laid myself down with the moon bright 
upon me, 

And thought that the waves might now lull me to 
sleep till the dawn; 

And I slept all the night long, and heard not a sound 
of their singing! 

And awoke — and 'twas morning — The glory, the vis- 
ion, were gone! 

Oh! thus shall it be with each vision that comes out 

of heaven? 
That the eyes of the spirit be closed — for the time is 

not yet? 
Then why, though the years they are many, and far 

is Amalfi, 
Can I not the glory that lay there before me, forget? 



36 



''Ai i}i€^ other e^cJ c^ /^^ g^^yJeyi'^^^'s'l 



LITTLE WHITE GARDEN 

There's a little white garden near the sky, 

With a pergola on it — lest it fly 

Away, or slide 

Down the mountain-side 

To the sea below! 

And straight little paths sedately trace 

The outline of the little space 

Between the walls and the tangled grace 

Where daffodils grow. 

The steep, white garden-walls hold up 

The little garden, as a cup 

May hold a rose 

That in it, grows — 

Or a daffodil; 

And over the walls, one gazes down 

On vineyards in their green and brown, 

And sunburnt roofs of a little town 

On a misty hill. 

At the other end of the garden-walls. 

From far below, the wide sea calls — 

Though I loved you so, 

I had to go 

To that shining sea, 

Little White Garden! None here, fills 

Your place, there on your misty hills! 

Then blow me one of your daffodils, 

And remember me! 



30 



SECKETS OF THE FARAGLIONI 
A Phantasy 

O would you learn 
Of mystery? 
Then turn, ah! turn 
To this blue sea, 
Wherein we stand, 
The Enchanted Three! 

And would you hear 
A siren sing? 
Draw near! draw near! 
But with you, bring 
The ears to hear 
The siren sing! 
And would you see 
A mermaid rise? 
It all depends 
Upon your eyes! 

Then nearer creep — 
But not too near! 
Lest that you too, 
Might disappear 
In these blue pools. 
That lying deep 
Within our shade. 
Already keep 
Some mermaid! 
Who'd slowly rise 
From out the blue, 
And look surprise 
At seeing you! 



40 



And would you know 
How Beauty's caught 
In waves that flow? 
When some see naught 
But waves of green — 
But waves of blue — 
When might be seen 
A mermaid too? 

And would you hear 
How thunder's made, 
When sky is clear, 
And wind's asleep? 
Draw near! draw near 
This cavern's shade, 
Where lightnings flash 
From out the deep. 
Sea-surges swing, 
And roll, and sweep 
Far-echoing 
Through coral caves! 
(Hark! sirens sing!) 
And is it waves — 
Or stranger thing 
— In that far corner there — 
That you see fling 
White arms in air? 

And is it pearls 

— Or only tossing spray — 

Where the green water whirls 

Away — away? 

Hark! sirens sing — 



41 



"Come away! 

Where we sway, 

Here by the gray rocks bending! 

With fingers fair, 

We beckon where 

Your sorrow shall have ending! 

— And he who clasps our fingers fair, 

Shall find his joy 

Melt— into— air!" 

But not for you 

The sirens call! 

For you, not yet! not yet! 

Though you will not 

Remember all 

You've seen — or all forget! 

So homeward take this tinted shell — 

There's a song within, 

Of a soft, blue sea — 

The magic sea wherein we dwell. 

Enclosed in stone, 

The Enchanted Three! 

And if on shore they question you, 

Then there's the shell to prove it true! 

— But you will know 
Where you have been; 
And you will know 
That you have seen 
Waves of green — 
Waves of blue — 
Mermaids too! 



4a 



CAPRI— IN SPRING 

I know an island lying far away 

In Italy: 
Within a blue sea of its own, it lies; 
And over it, the blue Italian skies — 

(More blue — the sea!) 
And from the sea, the gray cliffs, towering rise, 

Bathed clear in sun — 
But flecked with sunlight of more golden hue 
Where yellow broom leans out against the blue, 

Till day is done. 
And fair the Dawn, that peers from heaven through, 

In roses drest, 
Then lays the morning clouds, her wreathed crown, 
Upon the little gardens of the town, 

And hills' soft breast — 
For so, the little fruit-trees floated down! 

To join the Spring 
In that fair island, that so far away, 
Still in my heart is lying, there to stay 

All-blossoming! 



43 



THE LOST HOURS 

"For the things which are seen are temporal; 
but the things which are not seen, are eternal." 

2 Cor. IV. 

We searched the city over for the "Hours" — 
Those lovely "Hours of Raphael" — that once shone 
Fair on some frescoed ceili|ig — bright as morning- 
But never could we find where they had flown. 
Yet still we sought those Hours — (losing more!)- 
And still their floating garments trailed before 
Our eager footsteps — They were lost, some said; 
And none could even tell how they had fled! 

— Then came to me a vision of the Hours — 
The ever unseen Hours, that more fleet, 
Fly by on swift and swifter-moving feet: 
Those other Hours, once we called our own; 
Those gleaming Hours God lets slip between 
The pages of drab years — treasured unseen; 
The sad, sweet Hours gone, that we would fain 
Recall — to live again; 

And loveliest — the Hours we've never known — 
But only dreamed! — Radiant Hours, stay! 
Fly not so fast away! 

— But who can hold the Hours as they fly? 
They come, they pass, they fade — 
They do not die! 

They pass — into that rainbow place 
Where waits remembered grace 



44 



Of Beauty that's gone by; 

They fade — as fades the dawn from each new day- 

Into the morning sky. 

Slowly away - - - - 

As Beauty, when once born, 

Lives — though forever fled — 

They are not dead; 

While Memory shall last. 

Those unseen Hours, past. 

Shall wait for us, where waits 

Tomorrow's dawn! 



-. \ 







45 



THE WINDOW ON THE SEA 

SONGS OF "ITALIA IRREDENTA" 

"Per ogni ora obe vicn«, 
una apTan%a," 



THE MARCH OF THE DOLOMITES 

"What are these which are arrayed in white robes?" 

Rev. VII. 

We are those who must pass into great tribulation, 
Through blood of our children who claim us their 

right; 
But chained among forests where nation 'gainst 

nation, 
Strives ever to hold us, we climb to the light! 

We shall come through the trial of battle, victorious! 

Though branded with fire, the sign of our woes, 

We raise our scarred heads to blue heaven, all- 
glorious. 

And our wounds, we shall heal in the cool of the 
snows. 

Like clouds, the gray smoke of the cannon goes 

creeping 
Among us, to blind us, and peril increase, 
But He who has made us, holds us in His keeping, 
And lifts us to where in His heaven, is peace. 

But what of our children?— our children who love us! 
When peace may be theirs, who shall hold us their 

own? 
Shall the Austrian eagle be soaring above us? 
Or Italy's tri-color, floating alone? 

All, all are our children, though some of them, dying, 
Salute their black eagle in day's fading glow, 



49 



While our peaks will run crimson for others who're 

lying 
In green of the forest and white of. the snow! 

But Peace to our children! for we shall enfold them 
As Earth, through the ages, guards gently her dead; 
And out of the Valley of Death that would hold them, 
Their souls marching upward, by us shall be led! 

We are those who shall come out of great tribulation! 
Through blood of our children who strive for the 

Right! 
And we are a Sign set for each generation — 
To arise out of Darkness! to climb to the Light! 

Like clouds, the gray troubles of Earth may go creep- 
ing 
Among us, to blind us, and peril increase — 
But He who has made us, has all in His keeping, 
And lifts us to where in His heaven, is Peace! 



50 



TO A TYROLEAN RITEB 

Oh! thou wild Tyrolean river! 
From far Alpine peaks above, 
Rushing ever, resting never — 
Now a veil of silver light, 
Floating from so sheer a height, 
That thou seemest scarce to move — 
Now a torrent, foaming ever 
In a plunging, headlong flight — 
Thou art ever onward going 
With a glad intensity, 
Every minute of thy flowing. 
Moving nearer to the sea! 

When thy green waves kiss the forest- 
Where no sea-sand ever shines — 
Is it not the sea thou hearest 
In the murmur of the pines? 
For it sure, to thee is calling 
With the voice of Liberty, 
Else why art thou plunging, falling. 
Bearing all along with thee? 
For thou carriest all before thee — 
And the hearts of men go with thee! 
As did mine when first I saw thee 
Ever wide and wider growing, 
In the beauty of thy flowing — 
For thy pass-word it is "Onward!" 
And thy goal is Liberty! 

From afar, that goal awaits thee; 
Long the time e'er thou shalt glide 



51 



Out upon the mighty waters — 

Merge thy torrent with the tide; 

Yet thou plungest on, victorious 

Over rocks that may not bar! 

By their presence made more glorious 

Than smooth-flowing rivers are! 

For as in a dream, thou knowest — 

Thou who lovest Liberty — 

That the land wherein thou flowest, 

Some day, surely shall be free! 

So sweep onv/ard, out of Tyrol! 
All thy way through Italy! 
On that path where He who made thee- 
Moving sign of Progress — laid thee; 
Where the narrows only hem thee, 
Hold thee in — but never stem thee — 
Where the pass-word is "Avanti!" 
And the goal is Liberty! 



THE BORDER-LINE 

I mark Trentino's boundary — the peak 
Where all day, have her children fought and died; 
Now, more than dying rays of sunset, streak 
With deepening crimson light, my snowy side! 

Since dawn, these men of earth have striv'n to gain 
The gleaming slopes on every hand, afar, 
That beckoned onward, over peak and plain — 
Till from the boundary, they moved the bar! 

And some have crossed the border — e'er the dark, 
They'll plant their banner where the bugles blow; 
And some fell here, and left, for all their mark, 
A crimson stain upon the melting snow! 

Ah! well for Victory's favorite who can wear 
The stars of earthly honors on his breast! 
What of these unknown dead? Did they not dare 
As much, though falling when they forward pressed? 

Earth's barriers fade.. ..Oh! Stars! that overhead, 

Above the tired world, so calmly shine, 

Glow tenderly on these triumphant dead! 

For they — they too! — have crossed the border-line! 



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FLOWER-FIELDS 

In far green valleys near the sky, 

O wild sweet flowers! you grow; 

Around you, white peaks tower high 

Amid the eternal snow; 

— But you are low — 

As though the sunset-glory grew 

Too great for heaven alone, to bear, 

And God had laid it softly thiough 

The waving meadows, where 

In living colors, men might see 

How like to heaven, the earth may be! 



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MONTE CRISTALLO 

Into the blue, 

Thy bare peaks rise, 

Monte Cristallo! 
Rose-pink, blood-red, they rest among the skies; 
Above the clouds of Earth, where is thy base 
'Neath clinging forest-land, — as though God said, 
"Here in this troublous world, must be thy place, 

Yet is thy part 
To rise above the sorrows that embrace 

Thee — Held to Earth thou art, 

Yet lift thy head! 
To that for which I called thee here, be true! 
And though at set of sun, thy woes may glow 

Blood-red, 

Yet hide not thou thy face — 

Look toward the light, and rise 

Into the blue!" 



ss 



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T' ^ MinciQH' or) tne. cJ< 



eoi. 



THE WINDOW ON THE SEA 

"O. Watcher at the window 
That looks upon the sea! 
Why stand you as though gazing 
Into Futurity?" 

— It beckons there before me, 
Within a shining haze; 
So far away — so lovely — 
I can do naught but gaze! 

"But there, no ships come sailing 
To bring you golden store; 
Or else, like dreams they're passing — 
And reach another shore!" 

My sails are winged with silver. 
More bright when far away! 
They pass — but were they nearer, 
Their white would turn to gray! 

"But while you gaze to seaward, 
The sun behind, has set — 
You miss what goes forever! 
Past day, you will regret!" 

I need no sunset-glory — 
Let go the day that's gone! 

The moon will hang forgotten 

For I shall have the dawn! 



S9 



LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 




015 897 462 9 ^ 



